


12x08 Solitary Confinement

by SapphireNEmerald



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dark, M/M, Prison, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireNEmerald/pseuds/SapphireNEmerald
Summary: It was exactly Six weeks, Two days and Ten hours. 
Warning: Very dark, attempted suicide. Read at your own risk.





	

Dean didn’t know where they were. After putting Sam and him in shackles, consisting of handcuffs and leg-irons going around their waist, the Secret Service agents put a thick black bag over their heads to block out their vision and muffle much of their hearing. They must have been driving around in the truck for hours and they were going still. On the way, they had stopped the trucks by the roadside and ordered Sam and Dean to remove every article of clothing, while having ten assault rifles pointed at them. They had confiscated their phones, watches and shoes. Once they were buck naked in the middle of the road, the head NSA guy asked one of his minions to do a cavity search on them. It had been humiliating but they didn’t have any other choice but to obey. Once the search was done, they were given a blue jumpsuit and canvas shoes with velcros.  

The plan had been simple, Cas was supposed to bring Kelly, the Lucifer baby mama, out to take care of the nephilim and Crowley was supposed to teleport Rowena, Sam and him out of there. But right after Lucifer was sent back to hell, the demon had absconded with Rowena leaving Sam and him as sitting ducks for the Secret Service to find. He should have know better than to trust that slimy old bastard.

These guys, bringing them God knows where, weren’t messing around. Dean had tried every trick in his book, attacking, distracting, pleading, but nothing worked. He had only received beatings for his efforts. He had tried a couple unlocking spells, silently of course, but the cuffs were immune to magic. Makes sense, Dean supposed, that someone working for the President must have known about potential supernatural threats and taken measures to prevent them. It was great for the President but it sucked for them. Hopefully, the place they were going to would allow some opportunity for escape or maybe a phone call. Yeah, like that was going to happen.

The truck pulled to a stop, finally and Sam and Dean were manhandled out and were made to walk for some distance, the new set of guards pushing and shoving them occasionally to change directions. They finally removed the black bag to reveal that they were in some sort of a narrow corridor. The air was moist and still and had a musty smell, a quality Dean recognised that they were somewhere deep below the ground level. They couldn’t hear any sounds other than the constant buzz of electricity and their footsteps echoing loudly. Once they reached the end of the corridor, the guards pushed Sam and Dean to walk in the opposite directions of the T-junction. No, they can’t separate them, he can’t leave Sammy to be alone. Dean stopped walking refusing to turn away from his brother. He dug his heels in, refusing to budge when the guards forcibly pushed him to walk again.

“No, put us toge-” Dean started to say but the guard nearest to him pummeled Dean with the butt of the assault rifle he was holding. Dean doubled over in pain but still refused to move.

“You know, we could just shoot you and be done with it. It’s not like anyone is gonna know where you disappeared to.” the guard who seemed to be in charge said, pointing his rifle at Sam. “Ok, ok.” Dean relented putting his hands up. Dean gave Sam a pointed look as if to reassure that everything will be ok and they will get out of there alive, before walking away. 

After a few more twists and turns, they pushed Dean into a small cell. Dean flinched as the heavy metal door closed with a loud thud, the sounds echoing around the walls.

Week 1

Dean was locked in a small cell, roughly 80 square feet (he measured it a few times with his feet). The cell was furnished with a bed, sink and toilet. The only sources of light were a single bright fluorescent light that hung from the ceiling and a small strip of window on the opposite wall. The first day, Dean looked out the window eager to get some clues of where they were. However, there was nothing but a white wall on the other side of the window, another corridor with fluorescent lighting. There was a camera high up in the corner of the room tracking his every move.

Dean sat in his cell trying to pinpoint the pattern that the prison operated on. They pushed in meals through the tiny slot in his door three times a day. The guards changed shifts two times a day. Everyday, about two hours after dinner, the guards would yell at Dean to put his hands through the slot in the door. They would cuff him and two guards armed with assault rifles would escort him to another room. This room was the size of a basketball court, with a 40 foot white wall on one side. Every three days, the guards would escort him to a shower stall, the size of a phone booth and watch him shower, fumbling with the soap bar in his cuffed hands. In essence, Dean’s life had become reduced to being lead from cage to cage to cage. So far, in all his excursions he had never come across another soul other than the two guards escorting him.

But Dean was not worried. He knew that Castiel would come for him if he didn’t escape from here first. He would cook up a plan, find Sam and break out of the prison. It didn’t bother him that so far he hadn’t been able to find a chink in the routine. He was Dean fucking Winchester and he had managed to escape Heaven, Hell and Purgatory. He will escape this prison. If not, he had Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, looking for him. Dean pushed down the small voice in the back of his head that pointed out how the cuffs were magic proof and that this prison might be warded against angels or demons finding it.

Week 2:

Why the FUCK was Cas taking so long to find him. It took Cas thirty years to save him from Hell and Dean didn’t think he can survive in this shithole for thirty years. He would rather die than stare at the fucking white corridor with harsh artificial again. It was not fair. He had saved the fucking President and sent Lucifer packing. He had dedicated his entire life to saving people and hunting monsters. If it hadn’t been for Crowley just disappearing on them, Sam and him would not be in this situation. He wondered what Sam might be doing. Probably just sitting doing nothing. They wouldn’t even give him a book to read.

A surge of red hot rage ran through him. Dean flipped his mattress and flung the sheets and his pillows at the wall. Taking the toilet roll from the dispenser, he pulled out a bunch and stuffed it into the toilet, flushing it repeatedly so as to clog it. He broke the pipe that ran to the sink, causing the whole plumbing to leak and flood the tiny cell. Dean then went to the door and banged it. He gripped the hinge and tried to rattle the door. He kicked it with his feet and smashed his fists on it again and again, screaming to let him out. He shouted for hours, at the top of his lungs, until he lost his voice and his throat closed up. His knuckles were bleeding from pounding on the door.

All the anger had left him feeling exhausted. Dean slid down the floor and sat against the corner of the room, the flooded toilet water soaking into his clothes. He felt tears start to brim in his eyes, making his vision blurry and soon he was a sobbing, his body fully heaving. He looked around the room, at the mess he made. It looked like a perfect representation of his life. No matter how much he kicked and screamed, his life would never be in his control. And much like this room, it will always be a mess. For some reason, this was amused Dean and he started laughing. On some level, Dean knew he was behaving like a mad person, shouting, crying and now laughing.

The next day, when Dean came back from his shower, the room was made up. It was as if his freak out had never happened.

Week 3:

Cas’s bright blue eyes stared at him, as he swallowed Cas’s cock in one sweep motion. Dean relaxed his throat as Cas grips his hair tight and began to fuck into him roughly. Dean picked up the rhythm of stroking his own cock, savoring the musty tang of Cas’s weeping dick. Cas moaned as he came filling up his mouth full of come, some of it escaping the sides despite his enthusiastic attempt at swallowing everything. Dean’s eyes shot open, the memory of Cas fading as he reached his own orgasm. The same harsh lights beat down on him in the empty cell. This was his third orgasm today. He had nothing else to do.

Dean wetted one of the pillow case covers he uses as a washcloth and wiped the whole room down. The bed was neatly made, the corners tucked in with military precision and not one bit of dust could be found in any corner of the cell. Dean cleaned his room meticulously everyday because they might lock him up and treat him like an animal but he would show them that he was not by behaving with dignity.

Dean sat at the corner of the room and began talking to the guard outside. Today he wanted to tell the man about the first time he met his angel. Dean had taken to recounting stories of various hunts, memories and titbits to the guard outside. The man never answered or even gave any indication that he was listening but it provided Dean with a measure of comfort so he does it anyway. Yesterday was a Sam day, with Dean covering stories of Sam as a teen but today was definitely a Cas day.

Dean hoped that if he talked to the guard enough, they might someday talk back to him or even just acknowledge his presence. But everyday, Dean ends with the same sentences.

“Why am I here? Are you ever going to let me out again? I will give you anything you want, just give me five minutes with my brother. I just need to see if Sammy is ok. Please…”

Week 4:

Dean was lying on the mattress with the blanket pulled right up to his chin. He didn’t get up from the bed today, not when the guard slotted in his meals or when they wanted to escort him to shower or when the basketball court for his one hour outside time. He just didn’t see the point. He was just going to rot in here for the rest of his life, so why bother? Might as well speed up the process and get it over with. Dean was alone with his thoughts, with all the mistakes he had made, people who have died due to his incompetence.

Ellen, Bobby, Jo, Ash, Kevin, Charlie and the countless others he couldn’t save. They all flashed before his eyes, one by one, mocking him and taunting him. Why did he get to live when they have perished. The total and complete feeling of powerlessness overwhelmed him. He felt suffocated with all the weight of his past. It was literally becoming difficult for Dean to keep breathing. Dean felt like a skeleton of a man. He knew that he looks like it too. The last time he had looked at the reflective piece of metal screwed on the wall, he saw a barely recognizable face staring back at him. His beard and hair had grown, since he was not allowed any sharp objects to shave. He looked pale and gaunt with dark circles around his eyes. The lack of meaningful activity compounded with constant exposure to artificial light had pushed him into a paralysing stupor, unable to resist the bed during the day and incapable of any restful sleep at night.

Week 5:

Dean had broken a meal plate into pieces and fashioned a shank with one of the sharp shards. He made it three days ago, but he held it in his hands everyday, staring at the rugged metal tip encrusted in rust. He had not put it down for three days, cradling it almost lovingly, while hunched down in a corner of the cell, rocking himself back and forth.

Dean’s mind was empty when he got up eventually. There were no thoughts or any sign of a conscious decision made. There was just an empty blank void in his head. As if a puppet with someone else pulling his strings, Dean methodically gripped the shank tight and plunged it as hard as he could into the soft flesh of his forearm. He dragged the blade from the tip of the wrist to right below the elbow, making a long deep gash. A rush of pain hit Dean hard but he was a hunter, so he just gritted his teeth and repeated the action on his other forearm.

Blood welled out of the large gashes, warm, wet and slimy, pouring over his clothes, staining the floor and skin. Dean stared at the exposed muscle gushing blood with a sick fascination, the dank air of the cell quickly filling up with thick coppery smell of blood. 

Climbing up on the wall Dean, smeared his blood on the camera, preventing anyone from watching his movements. Next, he did the same to the reinforced window and the four walls of the cell.

Dean took off every stitch of his prison issued clothes and laid down naked right in the middle of the room, drifting off into blissful unconsciousness. 

Week 6:

When Dean came to, he saw the same sterile artificial lights. His head hurt like he had the worst hangover of his entire life. But he still felt throbbing pain originating from both his arms. When Dean tried to sit up to examine himself further, he realised that he was strapped to the bed, arms, legs and waist immobilised with velcro straps. He glanced down as best as he could to see his arms wrapped with gauze. The last thought Dean had before he passing out again was that the stitches were going to leave an ugly scar on his wrists.

The next time Dean woke up, his head was feeling much better and he could think more clearly. He was still immobilised to the bed but at least it looked like some sort of a hospital ward instead of his cramped cell.

On the wall opposite his bed, there hung a calendar and a clock. At least now he could tell with certainty how long he and Sam have been incarcerated. It was exactly

**Six weeks, Two days and Ten hours.**

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment on what you think. Is it too dark? Let me know!
> 
> I take Destiel prompts at http://sapphire-n-emerald.tumblr.com/. If you want me to write your prompt, follow my Tumblr and drop your prompt at my ask box! :)


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